Battle Scars, just not the one you think of
by JohnTheFishLovesSnuffles
Summary: Sherlock, though he loathes to admit it, didn't spot them straight away but when he did, he just wanted to return John's favour. JohnLock Slash, don't like don't read, etc, etc. a bit of past teen angst. Lots of unknowingly loving Sherlock! Full authors note inside!


**Disclaimer- I don't own them, I've just stolen them in an elaborate heist that Sherlock would adore solving!**

**A/N- Without wanting to give away the story, I suffer, a little from what John does in this fic, and noticed that in some unfortunate photos of Mr Freeman (there are very few) his make-up job on set looks a bit lick mine when I'm covering up. Also I realised that, despite it being a fairly common problem, I'd never read anything, in any fandom, like this.**

Sherlock, though he loathe to admit it, didn't notice it until a while after Dr Watson moved in with him and he spotted the containers of make-up in the bathroom, 'hidden' in a cabinet. Sherlock had frowned in confusion at the concealer, foundation and powder but left it where it was and went back into the front room. He tried to, as discretely as possible, analyse John's face, whilst the other man was reading the paper.

He didn't spot them immediately, in fact it wasn't until later that night, when the layers of make-up had worn itself of the older man's face that they became evident.

The Doctor's skin was mottled, little craters of paler skin and well and pin prick sized raises, against the tan and flush from the warm fire. Sherlock had frowned and enter the realms of his Mind Palace to try and find a suitable diagnosis. After realised her must have deleted the relevant data, he swept up and grabbed John's laptop from the coffee table. Watson huffed, indignantly but didn't say anything.

After Googling may combinations of the patterns he saw on his flatmates skin. He found images that matched what he saw before him perfectly, as well as a perfect explanation.

Acne Scarring.

Sherlock never said anything, nor let on that he knew. John was not a vain man, proud, yes, but not vain. He was, also defiantly heterosexual, therefore the fact he wore make-up suggested that there was an insecurity founded in those little craters and raises on his mottled skin.

Many years later, after Sherlock's fall and return, Sherlock and John finally managed to get over their Asexual and heterosexual selves, they confessed that they shared feelings for each other that ran much deeper than friendship. Not long after that the pair fell into Shelock's bed and took part in regular love-making there.

Sherlock noticed, however, that John always insisted the lighting was low and he'd topped up the make-up, discretely, of course, under the guise of going for a pee, both before and after. Sherlock considered the fact his lover was nervous about his battle scars, however after John showed no objections to the particular attention his paid to them during their love-making. Also John didn't apply make-up to them.

The consulting detective tried to ignore this, let John come out with it in his own time, but Sherlock wasn't a patient man and he longed to caress his lover's bare-face and assure him that he was still the most attractive person Sherlock had ever encountered…

In the end, Sherlock's impatience got the better of him and whilst the pair of them were still tangled, post-coital, "Why won't you let me see them?"

John frowned, eyes still closed, basking in the comfort he felt.

"Your acne scars." Sherlock explained, and as he did, he felt his lover tense.

"You know, I thought I was gonna be the only one to get one up on the world's only consulting detective, I thought you hadn't noticed." John sighed, "Wishful thinking, huh?"

At this point, John began untangling himself from Sherlock and it was Sherlock's turn to frown, "John, where are you going?"

John turned around to face Sherlock from his place, now sat, naked as the day he was born, on the edge of their bed. His face was blank unreadable, but there was some pain in his eyes, "To my own bed I guess. I don't know how long you've known or why you've carried this," he gestured between them, "on when you obviously couldn't want me, but it's for the best I leave now. I'll pack my stuff in the morning and move in with Greg for a bit."

Sherlock's frown deepened, "Why is it I 'obviously couldn't want you'? I don't understand, John."

John threw his hand in the air, "Because I'm all scarred, marred and ugly!" he cried.

"But you let me see your scars from Afghanistan. And you'd no problem with it when I focus my ministrations during coital on them."

John shook his head, "They're battle scars though, scars that I got from doing something I could be proud of! These," He gestures to his face, "they're just the result of my weakness."

"They're still battle scars, though." Sherlock said quietly, "They're from your battle with adolescence and your metamorphous into it. They're battle scars from the interior battle you had with that habit of touching your face and scratching them. They're still battle scars, just not the type you often think of…"Sherlock felt a blush rise on his face as he added, "and I want to love them just as much as the others, because they're part of you…if you don't mind, of course"

John turned around and faced Sherlock fully, eyes wide and disbelieving, tears forming, "Oh, Sherlock…" The tears spilled and Sherlock felt confused put sat up, moved closer to the insecure doctor, and held him as he cried.

"I'm not gonna pretend I understand why someone as perfect as you loves, wants and accepts me-" John stuttered out between sobs.

"No, John, I'm not perfect. I had battles of my own when I was younger, and I've got the battle scars from them, just as you have, it's just mine mar my mind not my skin. But you, you've done so much to help me come to terms with them…I just, I just want to do the same for you." Sherlock explain, stroking his fingers through his lover's tears.

The make-up John had put on his face that night had worn off a little from their 'activities' earlier in the evening, and now, what with the tears, there was little left clinging to the Doctor's face.

Sherlock, despite the low lighting of the room, could make the large majority of them out. He began tracing them, joining them as if constellations on the most beautiful sky he'd seen and admitting every detail of them the wing in his Mind Place dedicated to John.

John hummed a little, as he snuggled into Sherlock.

Sherlock guided their two bodies back into a laying position on the bed.

"You know Greg and Sally and Anderson don't know how wrong they are when they say you don't deserve me. I don't think I deserve you!" John admitted as Sherlock continued summiting everything about this bare John to memory.

"Don't be stupid. I've much bigger problems than a few scars that make me unworthy! My sociopathic tendencies to start with, along with the fact I don't talk for days, then talk and agree on things when you're not here!" Sherlock chuckled.

Sherlock felt John stifle a giggle too before his lover whispered, "I love you, I love you so much."

Sherlock smiled and caressed John's face, "I love you, too, John Hamish Watson. I love all of you, even the bits you feebly try and hide."

John didn't bother stifling his giggle at that.

After that night, John didn't throw his make-up out, nor stop wearing it, but, more often than not, he'd crawl into bed, or rush off to the bathroom before they made love, then pounce on Sherlock in bed, smelling the sweet smell of cleansing make-up wipes, a happy grin plastered on his face and totally barefaced.

Case Closed.


End file.
